Tears From A Star
by Asyr Sei'lar
Summary: Asyr is dead, and Gavin has to deal with his grief while on a mission.


Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars or Rogue Squadron. Lucasfilm and Stackpole do, respectively.

Inspiration: Could you believe it was line from a song I heard that I don't even know the title of?

Addition: Just ease up on the reviews, okay? This is my first really emotional fic.

Synopsis: Asyr is dead, and Gavin has to deal with his feelings.

Author: Asyr Sei'lar

Title: Tears From A Star

She's dead.

There are those who say life goes on. They don't know what the hell they're talking about.

It's been exactly a month since the battle at Distna. A month since she died at the hands of some filthy Imp pilot. A month since I actually felt like living.

Despite all that I've been through, I'm not suicidal. I was spared that with all the support given to me by my closest friends. As close to me as they are, thought, they aren't, or rather, I should say weren't, as close to me ase Asyr was.

My thoughts return to the present, the flow of memories I shared with Asyr, gone though she is, stop.

I lie on my bunk here on _ Avatar_, a fancy name for the beat-up old Corellian corvette that's been retrofitted to carry cargo. Rogue Squadron has been assigned to escort it. Right now, I'm off-duty. It's the worst time for me. At least when I'm flying, I don't have to think about her.

_ Beep-beep._ The doorchime goes off. Lifting myself on one elbow, I call, "Come!" General Wedge Antilles steps in, concern written all over his face.

"Still thinking about her?" he asks quietly. Hesitating, I nodded. A million things flow over his face just then, every one battling for precedence. Sympathy for my loss, grief at his own losses, triumph that Rogue Squadron had lost far less pilots than everyone had thought . . . So many emotions that most were hard to name.

For a moment, we were no more than friends, both our own very private grief, yet aware that the other was in the room, supporting each other.

I suddenly remember who I am, who he is, and what I hadn't done. "Please, General, take a seat," I say quietly.

It seemed to snap him out of what I knew to be thoughts as sad as mine had been. He takes a deep breath, close to a gasp. "Thanks, Gavin," he says in a breathless voice.

He tilts his chair back, studying me through those hooded brown eyes that had seen so much I hadn't, had suffered through more than I could ever imagine. He smiles slightly. "Gavin, we've been through too much together to stand on formality. I _ do _have a first name."

"Wedge," I say, acknowledging his request. I suppose, had I been younger, I would have been shocked to address my commanding officer by anything other than his title. But I'd grown up, matured. Fallen in love. Despaired of ever finding another love, of even finding the will to live beyond what I had to do to survive.

Silence reigns between us. I couldn't let it. "Any problems?" I inquire for the pure sake of making conversation.

"None," Wedge replies. He studies me intently and frowns. "Gavin, how _ are_ you doing?"

"Fine," I answer automatically. I turn away from him and stare at the ceiling. "Truth to tell," I say, emotion choking every word I utter, "I miss her. Terribly. It still hurts as if she just died yesterday." A shadow of anger chases the pain off my face. "And that little slimeball Fey'lya probably pushed her to it . . ."

Something akin to worry and helplessness at choosing what to say from a bunch of time-worn cliches and platitudes passes over his face. "Don't do anything rash," he warns, though I had heard similar cautions from my friends."

"I won't," I assure him. He nods, then rises and heads for the door. For a moment he hesitates, then turns and looks at me, his face softening. "Gavin, I'm—"

Suddenly, alarms go off. "All personnel to battle stations," the comm officer calmly announces. "I repeat—"

In a flash, Wedge and I are out the door. We run towards the hangar, located not very far from my quarters.

I jump into my X-wing. "Jawaswag, full power," I tell my R2 droid. "No time to do a check-list."

One by one, the Rogues exit the hangar bay and gently glidepast the magcon shield and into space. That dark, forlorn void where my lover died, alone and friendless . . .

I shake my head. It doesn't help. Images of Asyr still persist. _ It's time to fight, not to mourn, _I tell myself firmly.

"Rogue Lead to Five. Answer."

Wedge's voice brings me back to the present. "Rogue Five here. Four lit and ready to go," I respond, trying to make my voice not sound as shaky as I felt.

Lead's stern voice filtered through the comm system. I winced. "Another slipup like that Five, and you'll be relieved of duty."

"Understood, Lead," I said neutrally.

The Rogues form up in their diamond-shaped flight groups, not a one out of formation. That was only natural, being the best starfighter group in the New Republic, and, (or so we liked to think) the entire galaxy.

I glance out the viewport to see what type of vessels we'd be facing. Frowning, I see they are TIE Interceptors. Thirty-six of them, exactly like when we were amubushed at Distna . . .

I frown and blink. Instead of seeing Interceptors, as I expected to, I see clutches. Pirate craft. I program in a flight path and rub my eyes. _ What is wrong with me?_ . . .

Sooner than I expect, we are almost on top of the clutches. Red and green laser beams shoot out, creating a dazzling lightshow that I always marvel at in every dogfight.

I and my wingman engage a clutch wingpair. I slip to the right to avoid one shot, then down to avoid colliding with the other clutch.

Looping around, I get on the tail of one clutch. The pilot is good. I'm better. I fly past the rapidly expanding gasball his ship has become.

I note that my wingman has managed to get rid of his clutch also. Before I can congratulate him, another pair of clutches begin chasing after us.

I dip my X-wing down and slow my speed. The clutch overshoots me. Before it can recover, I speed up and zap it with my lasers. Another one down.

I watch as my wingman loops over the other clutch and ends up behind it. I'm so close to the reulting fireball that the lightdampers on my canopy go on.

I'm finally past the explosion. The lightdampers go off. I glance outside my canopy. Rogue Squadron is winning. Most of the Interceptors are down. The gravity complications from Distna, with its brown swirling clouds below us, don't seem to be causing any problems . . .

I look down at my sensor readings. Jawaswag beeps in irritation. A section of my console comes alive and shows a clutch that is after me. _ Clutch? But I was sure it was . . ._ I frown and shudder. _ What's happening to me?_ Fear suddenly comes over me.

I start evasive maneuvers. No good. This clutch knows his stuff. I try to loops over his head. He simply rotates his guns upwards and shoots. The shot catches one of my S-foils.

Smoke fills the cockpit. I cough, trying to force the smoke out of my lungs. Two of my guns are gone. The others are simply inoperative.

"I'm done for," I whisper. I feel at peace. The torment I had lived through for so long would end. I would finally be with my beloved . . .

The clutch is no longer on my sensors. Rogue Nine had dropped in behind it and vaped it. "Thanks, Nine," I call over the comm.

"No prob, Five," he says, wading back into the main fray. Not that there is much of it left. Most of the Interceptors have been destroyed and the rest are fleeing . . .

I goran. _ Oh no! Not again!_ I'm back at Distna, back where _ she_ died . . .

There's an Interceptor near me. After me. I loop behind it, but it pays no attention. I have it in my targeting block.

Jawaswag beeps at me loudly. I pay no attention. The Interceptor finally seems to notice I'm here. It tries to evade me. I stay on its tail.

"You'll pay," I yell. "For _ her_ death, for everything . . ." A tear runs down my cheek, but I don't brush it away. I do this for her. To avenge her. To make sure the Imp who murdered her doesn't get away with it . . . 

I cough again from the smoke but I don't let it distract me. Nothing to distract me from my target. The murderer. The butcher.

My comm pops. "Gavin, stop where you are," Wedge says.

"I won't, Commander," I tell him, as calmly as if we were discussing dinner. "I have him in my sights. I can't let him get away."

"Captain!" came the sharp order. "Stop!"

He didn't understand. "I can't!" I yell at him. "Don't you understand? _ He_ killed her. He's a murderer."

I heard the other's sharp intake of breath. "Gavin," Wedge says softly. "You're chasing after Corran. Not the Imp who killed Asyr. Corran."

I look at my sensor board. He's right. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to hold back the flood of tears that threaten to come.

"Captain . . ." comes the warning growl.

"I'm shutting down," I tell him, shocked that I sound so calm. My voice is like the eye of the storm that swirls so turbulently in me.

I kill power to everything except life-support. I drift in space, as dark and inert as Asyr's ship must have been. Not even the lights are on to comfort me.

My mood is as dark as the void outside. I know I will likely be court-martialed and kicked-out for what happenedhere today.

As the _ Tyrinium_, a _ lambda_-class shuttle, tows me back to the _ Avatar_, I go over several scenarios in my mind as to what I could I do as a civilian. Unfortunately, most involve dying of grief, something I feel like doing right now anyway.

I finally make it past the magcon shield. My ship is gently lowered to the deck. I open my cockpit and jump out. Everyone else had already left. Only Wedge is there, waiting for me.

I salute him gravely. Assuming a rigid soldier-at-parade-rest position, I stare at the wall beyond his shoulder.

"Gavin," he starts softly. That he has chosen to address me by my first name rather rank arrests my attention. I stare aat him.

"What happened out there today . . ." He pauses. "You're too good a pilot to lose," he continues.

I sigh. "There's a 'but' coming, isn't there?" I ask.

A smile appears on his face. "Yes," he admits. He squares his shoulder. "I'll put it down in my report that you were hallucinating due to the smoke." I nod. He looks me in the eye. "Also due to extreme, recent grief."

I nod again. "That was to be expected."

He narrows his eyes. "Gavin . . . what _ did _happen out there today?"

I sigh and look at the ground. "I . . . I really miss Asyr," I admit, a fact with which Wedge was already acquainted. "Too much so. I . . . it's exactly like what you said."

He gives me that warning growl again. "Gavin . . ."

I put up my hands. "It's true, Wedge, the absolute truth. The first battle since Distna and . . ." I shake my head. "I was still was and am totally obssessed by grief for Asyr." I swallow heavily. "I loved her, Wedge. I fell totally head over heels for her, and when she died"—I raise my eyes to his—"I just couldn't take it. I felt like I couldn't live anymore if she wasn't there with me. So naturally, her death was very much on my mind. Like I said, the first battle since Distna, and I couldn't fight without remembering the fight where Asyr died."

Wedge shakes his head. "Remembering to the point where you're convinced Corran is the pilot who killed Asyr?"

I bite my lip. "That's where the smoke kicked in, I think," I say. "My mind didn't need much to convince this was the battle of Distna. And on top of that, here I am, breathing in smoke, which causes me to hallucinate." I look away again. 

The sad look on Wedge's face becomes even more pronounced. He clears his throat. "Gavin," he says carefully, you're obviously hurting a lot more deeply than anything we can do as friends to help you. I . . . the only thing I can do for you is to put you on indefinite medical leave and recommend to Starfighter Command that you see a counselor."

A smile of pure relief appears on my face. "I . . . Thank you, General," I say. "You've probably just given me what I needed most. Time to heal and think about Asyr without having to grieve. Someone, even if it's a counselor, who can listen and help guide that healing."

An answering smile appears on Wedge's face. "Time heals all wounds," he says in a light tone. He grins that knowing, mischievous grin Corellians are famous for the galaxy over. "A cliche you'll find most true, Gavin. Eventually."

I laugh. "Indeed, General, indeed."

He turns to leaves, but pauses. "Oh, Gavin, one more thing," he says.

"What?" I ask curiously.

"I know a pretty good grief counselor by the name of Sera Faleur," he throws over his shoulder. "She's the best in her field; you might want to try her."

"Thanks," I call as Wedge fades into the shadows of the hangar's exit.

I smile. A new beginning, a chance to start over, has been handed to me. I know I will always cherish Asyr's memory, reserve a special place for her in my heart, remember all the happy times in our relationship. I know that's what she would have wanted. For me to be happy, not weighed down by grief and sorrow. A chance to show the galaxy one can live again. And that a very special person can live on anways, in heart and in memory. 


End file.
